As if to balance out Monday, Tuesday turned out to be an almost wasted day, in which my work plans were stymied and I ended up spending much of the morning trying to track down a missing person . . . who turned out to be fine, but oy.

Still, we did get real rain last night, which was extremely welcome. And now, in the cool morning darkness, a cardinal is singing; an occasional car hisses past on the wet street. Downstairs, a load of towels churns in the machine, and soon, when daylight begins fingering the maples, I'll step outside with my basket and admire the refreshed world.

The boys are now in Montana, and slightly less laconic in their texts:

Paul: Little Bighorn

Dawn: How did it feel to be there?

Paul: Kinda unpleasant to be there honestly. It seems pretty insulting to have a military cemetery in the middle of a reservation

[Not spoken but in both of our minds: Custer. A bad man, a bad leader. You're still just as horrible after all these years. As I just said to a friend: he's like a Superfund site. His legacy never stops leaking poison.]